


Shoe Trouble

by hutchynstarsk



Category: Psych
Genre: Gen, Humor, Shoes, Undercover, partner moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 02:11:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchynstarsk/pseuds/hutchynstarsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why *doesn't* the world's oldest profession have comfortable shoes? - Jules & Lassie friendship</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shoe Trouble

Carlton doesn't like this. He doesn't like it one bit. His partner, dressed as a prostitute? No way. He doesn't care how many creeps it gets off the streets. He doesn't want her having to deal with this. And he doesn't like waiting in the car and fuming, waiting to bust anyone who tries to accost O'Hara.

Juliet O'Hara starts back towards the patrol car. She left just a little bit ago, her skirt impossibly short, her top leaving little to the imagination, her heels wobbly and stilt-like.

Now she's limping.

Lassiter is out of the door in one second. "O'Hara. You're hurt?" And how can she be hurt? She's his partner, damn it, and nobody better touch a hair of her head.

"It's okay, Carlton." She blows hair out of her face, looking flustered and rather pink. "I got a shoe caught in the sidewalk."

And then he sees she's wearing one shoe.

"I'll go back for it. You get in the car." Maybe he can talk the Chief out of this. Somebody has to protect O'Hara.

"Um, it's—kind of broken. And I can't—do this in one shoe. We'll have to stop and buy new ones." She's turning bright pink, now. "There's a shoe store two streets over," she mumbles, and gets into the car. It's not easy for her, in that tiny skirt. Lassiter shuts the door for her, looks wrathfully all around the street to make sure no one was ogling his partner, and then gets in behind the wheel.

"I don't know why the women in this profession can't wear decent footwear," he hears her mumble. She takes off the last shoe, and surreptitiously begins to rub her feet through her nylons.

Lassiter starts the engine, ready to hunt and gather some fresh footwear.

They pull up outside the shoe store, and he turns to her grimly. "What size are you?"

"Nine." She's blushing again. (Why?) "I have big feet."

"That's not big," says Carlton, a knee-jerk reaction. "I'll get you something. You don't want to walk in like that."

She's blushing again.

"I mean without any shoes on," says Carlton, and resists the urge to give her his suit jacket, and tell her to cover up.

"Um, Carlton? Could I have your jacket? Just…for a few minutes? I don't want everyone in the parking lot staring at me." If she can get any redder, he's never seen it.

"Absolutely, O'Hara." He slips it off quickly and she takes it and huddles under it, trying to cover as much of herself as possible.

Lassiter's long steps take him grimly inside. He is already reaching for his cell phone. "Chief? I'm sorry to say this, but you and I are going to have words. O'Hara is a good girl and I do not, repeat, do not want her standing on a street corner like this. This is a no-go on the trap. Do you hear me?"

"Carlton, you had better not be addressing me this way. I am your boss, remember?" The chief sounds ticked off. "Besides, didn't O'Hara agree to this sting? And didn't you agree to back her up?"

"Yes, but—"

"'But' nothing, Detective. Now unless O'Hara calls me herself I am not pulling her off this detail. And frankly, I'd be disappointed if she did. She agreed to this, and now both you and she need to follow through. Now get back to backing up your partner, Detective—that's an order."

"Yes m—"

She's hung up already.

Lassiter closes his phone, glowering. He looks around helplessly for a moment, then heads towards the women's size nine shoes. There isn't a very big selection. But what's there is mostly spiky heels.

He returns to the car a few minutes later, and flops a bag into his partner's lap.

"All they had," he says gruffly.

The bag rustles as she pulls out—a pair of flats.

"Really? I thought they had a bigger selection than that. Although these will be more comfortable. Thanks, Carlton." She slips the shoes on, and hands him back his jacket.


End file.
